Name: Jevidiah ‘Jev’ Hoffman
DoB: May 11th, 1984(33)
Gender: Male
Species: Werewolf

Jev’s family and pack resided in Estes, Colorado, a small town surrounded by miles and miles of trees, mountains, lakes, and rivers. Where everyone knew everyone and nothing truly stayed a secret once someone found out. Neighbors talked and once something was out, it was out. It was good for people like Jev and his family, any newcomers were known about before they made themselves known. Other wolves and hunters were caught before they could do any serious damage. As far as homes go, Jev’s was nice. He lived with his mother and father, Claire and Ethan, and a few aunts and uncles and cousins. Jev was an only son and an only child, but his parents adored him nevertheless, for he was brave and smart, kind hearted and caring, and tough as can be because when he turned twelve and had the family crescent tattooed onto his left shoulder, he did it with pride and only a minute of crying. But when he turned 13 and experienced his first full moon, just four days after his birthday, it all changed


Like the Hoffman pack, many packs around the world celebrate something a ‘coming of age’ day for their pack members. This day happens for member who are 13 years old on the day of their first full moon. There is a huge party where relatives and other packs come to eat, drink, play games, and celebrate the young werewolf’s big day. This day is important because it will be the first time in this child’s life that they are able to shift from their human form to their wolf form. There’s a catch though. Once the full moon is at its peak, the child is forced to turn one of three forms; feral, were, or frenzy(it varies from child to child) and they are to stay that way until they find someone who can love them for who they are. This bond they form, this love, rather it be romantic or not, is very special and important for the wolves. For many, many years, they were seen as nothing but monsters. Killers. Inhuman. But that’s not what they were at all, so for a person to see them as something good changes everything for them. Age, gender, sexual orientation matters not to the wolf for they will love you as you love them. For some wolves, this love can be found the night of their change, for others it takes years, and for some… it never happens and they are doomed to live a life as animal until the day they die. In Jev’s case, he hadn't  found his in over 20 years.


Once a child has turned they will travel elsewhere away from their homeland. Some will only travel a few cities over, others states or countries. There they will spend their time, out in the woods, hunting, living, and waiting for the right one to come along. Many of these places were commonly used among werewolves since they all seemed to see a high activity of humans through certain times of the year. Boxes were set up, each with a lock that all had a similar code, 1-2-3-4, and they all contained various items. A cell phone with three hundred minutes on it to make a few phone calls, food that was replaced when it went bad, water, and clothes, enough for both the wolf and their partner.
Jev found himself residing in White Mountain National Forest in Maine. A beautiful place during all seasons of the year. Jev shared his claimed area with an old black bear who had seen better days. But she was sweet, as sweet as bears could be, and the two rarely crossed paths, but Jev was always sure to take down a deer or two and leave it around for her to find when it came closer to the winter months. During that time of year he spent most of his days in his own den, a huge hole dug beneath a large tree filled with dry leaves, stolen articles of clothing, and blankets. It was big enough for him in any of his three forms with just enough space left over for his partner.
When, and if, a partner is found the werewolf will return their human form on the next full moon and the two will make the journey back to the werewolf's original home. Once home, the pack will celebrate and the partner will receive the pack's crest along with another crest of the wolf's and their partner's choosing to symbolize their bond to each other. After that, they two may choose to do whatever it is they wish. The partner can get the option of receiving The Bite and becoming a werewolf, but being able to change with the moon and never having to deal with being stuck in that form for a prolong period of time. The bite is usually given by their partner of the Alpha or the pack.

Threads my Dudes

Aurelia Faye|On Going|Own a replyo
Chaitanya[Hattie Multi-Muse]|It's doing
Obergeist[Dr. J. Steinholtz]|Also owe

Profile Style (Customize your page with CSS here!)

/* background of page */ body{ background-color: transparent !important; background-image:url( !Important; background-repeat: no-repeat !important; background-size: 100% 100% !Important; background-position: center center !important; } /* Hides Social Buttons */ .banner-socialActions{ display:none !Important; } /* hides recent activity */ .section-member-activity{ display: none !important; } /* Hides your blog posts on your profile */ .section-member-discussionEntries{ display:none !important; } /* Hides Site name */ .header-siteName{ display:none !important; } /* Header Picture */ .banner-header{ width: 100% !Important; height: 300px !Important; background-image:url( !Important; background-repeat: no-repeat !important; background-position: center !Important; background-size: 100% 100% !important; } .banner-frame { border-radius: 50px; border-color: white; border-width: 0px; background-color: transparent !important; }

Writer's Writing Style (OOC)

Paragraph, Multi-Para

Writer's Favored Genres (OOC)

Fantasy, Romance, Violence, Realistic, Rated R, Child Friendly, 18+, Comedy, Action, Adventure

Comment Wall

You need to be a member of Writer's Realm - Roleplay to add comments!

Join Writer's Realm - Roleplay


  • [Ohwow I am super sorry for the lack of literally everything on my end. Life has really been bringing me down, but I'll try to get moving on here again as soon as I can]

  • The stranger reaches up with his free hand, adjusting the goggles on his face with a frustrated grunt at how cold they feel against his already pallid skin due to the weather. He needs to replace the lining, perhaps, and see about getting them cleaned up to begin with. He could, of course, try to find some modern equivalent. Surely they would not be as fashionable, likely made as cheaply as possible, and certainly not with such a beautiful coloration. It would be a shame to lose such a treasured, longtime possession.

    …Okay. No new goggles. Repairs, like always.

    A sneeze follows, his shoulders jerking in reaction. His knees, too, move, further revealing he’s not standing on solid ground. His recovery takes a moment, in which he shakes himself out, wiggles his fingers, and discharges a few spurts of purple psionic energy to re-regulate his normal balances. All better. It must be the mountain cedar.

    Or…or something. Whatever blooms here. Whatever’s even blooming this time of year.


    He never claimed to be a botanist. He’s not THAT kind of doctor.

    He may be half-blind, but…it’s hard to miss motion in a landscape one is studying intensely. The suitcase, firmly gripped by his left hand, is tugged with him as he simply floats across the now-empty highway, nearly straight for where Jevidiah has fallen to “hide.”

    This could go poorly.

  • Ah, the wonders of nature. From above, Jev has an audience, merged with the cloud cover and enjoying the thrill of the hunt. He was never brave enough to take up his father's rifle as a boy, and by the time the Great War rolled around, he had chosen a scalpel and a textbook over a weapon. Never the less, one was forced into his hand. He refused to touch one again, until a dark visitor changed his path, though he never fired the officer's pistol he kept at his side...that is, until he nearly did with the barrel turned into his mouth.

    By the time the would-be prey has escaped, Geist has landed on the side of the road. He looks absolutely spectral there, an old-fashoined leather suitcase in his left hand and his right at his side, fingers balled into a fist as his weakened frame tries to support what he's brought along with him. Keen eyes will note he's hovering about two inches above the ground.

    That's, quite obviously, not normal.

    He doesn't move or give immediate indication he's noticed he is not alone, however. Perhaps he has no idea.

  • He could leave, and there was nothing the woman could do. She probably wouldn't chase after him. He was a stranger, someone she was not connected with. He stayed.

    She did not know why she did not live inside his head. She had no access to his thoughts, but he did not budge from his stance. Nor did he look at her. Not that she was yearning for him to stare at her deathly thin frame, nor did she wish to suffer from a violent shudder at the cost of her sixth sense.

    He spoke. And perhaps, a piece of Aurelia's heart broke. For she wanted so much for it to be Ulf's voice to dance across her ears. But, the woman spoke back as if seeing the other creature as a being not of her imagination, but as him; Jev.

    "Aurelia. Most call me Lia."

  • There comes a time man misses home- whether it be for the weather, the food, or the sights, an ache always does seem to creep up, even if the memoires left behind on those foreign shores are more than mildly bitter. The closest he can get means heading west from his usually East Coast locale, so he packs his bags and boards a plane with the help of the fake documents he was given by his hacker friend to get around the country the traditional way from time to time. Occasionally, travelling by air makes him feel a little bit more human. He simply walks with a cane, and due to his age, it's assumed he's merely disabled.

    Long gone are the days when his accent used to cause alarm. Long gone are the days people would look at him as he is and assume- rightfully- a war criminal was in their midst. These days, he's just a middle-aged German who, perhaps, was in a nasty car accident. This...this will do.

    The flight to Denver from Riverport, Massachusetts lasts approximately five hours. From there, he's done pretending to be normal. He's done traveling like a simple man. He heads North, passing through Boulder and creeping towars the wilderness, high in the air and among the chill and clouds, feeling like some ancient warrior of old, the living legacy of those folk heroes every child grows up learning of. The grin that creeps across his face is so wide he swears he's never been happier, and behind the red-glass anti-flare goggles, his good and bad eye alike are moist with the tears of a happy, free man.

    As night begins to fall, he's made his way down 36, drawing to a stop at the lake. The Rockies are a new sight for him, and his breath has been utterly taken away. The chill he experiences is not from temperature. Dressed to the nines, in no small part thanks to an old and dear friends, in Hugo Boss, like the old world man he truly is, he's more than bundled up in his woolen peacoat and comfortable scarf.

    Now...where to begin his impromptu vacation? He's had enough of people for a while. Maybe...just maybe...he should look to the mountains, and the forests that surround him. This, he thinks...this reminds him of home.

  • 77b2f82666483211014d3ef6343b1a74.gif

  • Deep within her, she knew that the wolf within her sight was not Ulf. Ulf had passed. He was resting in his own field of wildflowers, running and sniffing everything. Even though part of her knew it wasn't him when the creature corrected her, it broke a piece of her. A few tears fell down her cheeks until they became one with the snow on the ground.

    "Oh. I am sorry."

    It's a strained sentence as if she is trying to fight back whatever feelings are trying to surface. She felt sick, more so than a few moments ago. The left hand moved to grip at the Christmas present that Ulf had given her two years ago that hung around her neck, her right hand moved to grasp at her side and dig in; anchoring her into this world.

  • As the time ticked on, she finally began to catch the sounds of nature. The beginning songs of the common bird, the rustling of leaves as the wind ripped through, the crunch of fresh snow under her boots. Her humming ceased, attention now focussed on the sounds. It was tranquil, and her eyes fluttered shut. Live in the moment or something.

    It was the sudden recognition of what could only be described as a human voice, that had her eyes forcing themselves open. Head whipping around to find the culprit, yet there was nothing to be seen at the moment. Curious was she, so she took it upon herself to investigate. Moving in the direction of the sound she went.

    Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

    It was after what felt like years, that she finally catches sight of something, er, someone else. It was a wolf, large in stature. Her eyes widen, and her heart pounds heavily in her chest, only for her stomach to twist into knots. She felt sick. Those eyes were beginning to fill with water, and her mouth opened to croak out a single word, turned into a question.


  • She was a solitary creature, a recluse of sorts. While she enjoyed the occasional meeting with other individuals, she made sure to take time for herself. A time where she could clear her head, where she could just exist without really trying. Except she was never really alone, no, there was always the constant presence of souls who have not passed, who spent their days suffocating her, until she paid them attention.

    Today, Aurelia tried to find herself in nature. Things hadn't been the same, not for some time. A couple of months ago she had been in a coma after being shot with a bullet laced with a deadly allergen. Legs carried her across the expanse of white ground, leaving behind the impression of her boots. Despite the cold weather, the skeleton woman was not wearing a jacket. Instead, a thin long sleeve shirt clung to her torso, and a pair of well-worn denim suctioned to those legs. To the outsider, she looked crazy, wandering around without a jacket. Her secret, her touch rivaled that of the nipping cold.

    She strolled through without a care, not noticing the lack of sounds, for she had been busy humming some tune she had heard on the radio. Which of course, was something old and obscure. It was only a matter of time before something, or someone decided to grab her attention.

This reply was deleted.